


It Only Takes One Look

by WetSammyWinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, Attempted Murder, Blind Sam Winchester, Blow Jobs, Crimes & Criminals, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Minor Character Death, Organized Crime, Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5125247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WetSammyWinchester/pseuds/WetSammyWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blinded by a botched kidnapping attempt, Sam is the protected son of mob boss John Winchester. Sam's life is not what he would have chosen, but meeting a stranger in a coffee shop may help him to see things more clearly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic so comments are always welcome. Many thanks to [anotherwinchesterfangirl](http://http://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherwinchesterfangirl) for her review of that first chapter and her encouragement to keep going! This story started as my take on Eros and Psyche and how would two people fall in love when one is sent to kill the other. Of course that meant an unrelated Winchester organized crime au.

Sam sat with the sun shining warm on his face, soaking in the smell of the special dark roast coffee in his mug. It was his favorite at Ellen's place, spicy but sweet like chocolate, and she only served it on Wednesdays.

The sounds of New York traffic filtered in through the front door as it opened and closed with the door bells ringing softly each time. It was the sounds inside the coffee shop that surrounded and relaxed him. Sam could hear Ellen's business-like exchange at the register as she rang up an order and Jo's laughter with a customer as she steamed some cappuccino at the big LavAzza espresso machine behind the counter. The murmur of everyday conversations at the tables around him sounded like the shop was about half full.

It was at times like this that Sam didn't feel quite so lonely.

He was allowed out of the house only for a few hours each day by his father and only with a bodyguard in tow. Coming to his old college coffee shop made Sam feel normal if only for a little while. Ellen knew him from his college days and always welcomed him with a big hug. She knew who Sam's father was but never held it against him.

Sam set the mug down and reached for his muffin, fumbling it and knocking it to the floor. He was getting better at dealing with the blindness but there were still times when it surprised him.

"Hold on, let me get that for you." It was a new voice, one he hadn't heard earlier in the flow of nearby conversations. A soft spoken male voice, smooth but with a slight rasp at the end, which sounded vaguely familiar to Sam. He could smell the stranger’s cologne, a fresh scent of lemon and coriander, so the man must be standing close to his table. Sam was interested in hearing more of that voice, smelling more of that scent. He heard the stranger walk away and then that distinctive voice again across the room at Ellen's counter. "Can I get another one of these muffins?"

As the stranger’s steps returned to the table, Sam turned that direction. "Thanks, but you didn't have to do that. It was my fault."

The man took hold of Sam's hand and guided it to the new muffin he put on his plate. His fingers were large and warm on the back of his hand. Feeling a stranger touch him after weeks of darkness was a shock to Sam's system. The hand was quickly gone.

"Didn't have to, but I wanted to. You looked like you really needed a pick-me-up today."

Before Sam could say anything else, the stranger's steps led away towards the back entrance to the shop and out into the alleyway.

\----

The hour Sam spent at the coffee shop each day was his sanctuary. Living with his father had been difficult before, when Sam was forced to quit college early and move back into their East Coast mansion. John Winchester never liked the fact that Sam left for college. What use was there for a degree when your dad ran illegal businesses up and down the northeast seaboard? John would never allow his one and only son to become something as mundane as a doctor or lawyer. He had plans for Sam to take over and expand the family business, and bragged to everyone about his bright and handsome boy who ran the books and handled negotiations already at 23. 

John knew Sam’s limits and saw to it that he never had to deal with violence or ugliness directly. While Sam never sought out violence, it came to him one night in the form of the Campbell family and a botched kidnapping attempt.

The Campbells were known for running guns and drugs and handling the dirtiest, most unsavory deals. John tried to ignore the family and its patriarch Samuel but when they hijacked one of his shipments of unmarked cigarettes coming down from Canada, John lost his infamous temper and burned down one of their waterfront warehouses in retaliation. Not to be outdone, the Campbells threatened the one thing that meant everything to John - his boy. If John destroyed their livelihood, they would destroy his legacy.

If his father was an obsessive and proud bastard before, then the kidnapping turned him bloodthirsty and out for revenge.

Taken by four men as he left his apartment on a Friday night, Sam was missing for 24 hours before John’s men found him in an abandoned building, unconscious and bleeding out at the bottom of a staircase. The head injury healed but the blindness remained. John immediately moved him back into his old bedroom at the mansion and Sam was rarely out of his sight. Over the weeks, Sam learned to cope with John’s overprotectiveness and with the darkness, but the only solace he found was his daily visit to the quiet of Ellen’s coffee shop.

Sam was happy when his father agreed that Ash could be his bodyguard instead of another one of his goon squad. Sam and Ash grew up together, with Ash's dad running numbers for John. While he was not the biggest guy, Ash was smart and just as deadly with a gun as any other member of the Winchester family. He was also the only one to make Sam laugh with a joke and give him his own space.

"I'll be right outside on the bench if you need me, ok?" Ash guided him back to the table, setting the plate with a piece of homemade banana bread in front of him.

"Stop fussing over me. I'm fine." Sam waved him off and picked up his coffee cup. Today's blend was Kona. Nutty, buttery and expensive but worth every penny. Door chimes tinkled as Ash left, taking up his guard post outside the window. Sam couldn’t see him but knew that Ash would be checking his emails on his smartphone, returning a few calls and watching girls walk by while Sam got his hour of normal inside the shop.

"Banana bread, huh? I took you for more of a cinnamon roll guy." There was no mistaking that sexy rasp. Once again the stranger was close to him and yet Sam didn't hear him approach.

"Ellen makes the best here. That and her almond cranberry muffins. You should try them."

"So, you're a regular?"

"Sure. I'm a growing boy. I need my coffee and pastry every day." He stuck his hand out in what he thought was the right direction. "I'm Sam."

There was a moment of silence before that large hand wrapped around his. Sam felt the coolness of a chunky ring rub against his palm.

"Nice to meet you Sam. I'm... Alex." Before he lost his sight, Sam didn't notice the small pauses people put into their speech or their word choices. Now that he couldn’t see their faces, it meant everything.

"Well, Alex, want to join me for a cup of coffee?" He let go of his hand reluctantly and smiled up at the man.

"I can't today but perhaps tomorrow?"

"Sure, that would be great." He didn’t realize that Alex had already left until he heard Jo's voice and the smell of ammonia from her cleaning rag as she began to wipe down the table next to him.

"Hey Sam, honey, how are you doing? Can I get you a refill?" Sam and Jo went to school together for a while and knew each other from when he first came to her mom’s coffee shop years ago.

"No, no, I'm fine. Jo. Do you know the man who was just here?"

"What man?"

Sam had no way of describing him except for his sexy voice. Saying that out loud would make him sound like a love sick school boy. He wondered, did Alex have blond or brown hair? Blue or green eyes? There was no way of knowing. "He said his name was Alex."

"Well, that doesn't help me out much. Maybe if you knew what he was drinking?"

Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose under the dark sunglasses he wore. The headaches came and went, the doctors said they would ease up over time, but the darkness remained.

"Never mind. Jo, could you let Ash know that I want to leave now?"

 

\---

Sam used to come to Ellen’s every day with his college girlfriend, Jessica. They would sit for hours with their psychology textbooks open on the table, studying for midterms, drinking cup after cup of coffee and making plans for the future. A normal future filled with jobs, kids and a mortgage. Not a life filled with crime, violence and death. Looking back, he was a fool to ever think his father would allow him to drift away from the family business and marry Jess. Their plans turned to dust when she stopped returning his calls after their mid-winter break junior year. How much was due to her common sense about getting involved with a Winchester and how much influenced behind the scenes by his father? Sam would never know.

For all his interference, John loved his boy and bragged about Sam to anyone who listened about his abilities at the shooting range, how Sam figured out that one of their distributors was siphoning off profits from one of their legitimate businesses or his boy’s good looks. John ignored whatever he didn’t like about Sam’s life, especially his college plans and the fact that Sam liked men as much as women. 

His father's men took to calling him Johnny's golden boy in an affectionate way while his enemies said the same thing with a sneer.

Not that it mattered now. Sam couldn't shoot, he couldn't read books and he certainly would never be normal ever again. The doctors said that the cortical blindness could be temporary but at this point, Sam was doubtful. He didn't remember much about the night he was kidnapped due to the hit to his head. His father's men said they found him in an old warehouse thanks to an anonymous tip. If it weren’t for that, he would have bled out on that concrete floor.

"Whatever you're thinking about, it can't be good." Alex with the sexy voice was back and it snapped Sam back into the present.

"What makes you say that?"

"You get this little crease in your forehead and your dimples disappear. Your smile is beautiful when you let yourself smile. Can I join you?" 

"Sure." Beautiful. Sam felt hot and cold all at once when he heard that word. He had been called beautiful once by a drunken man flirting with him in a bar. The man grabbed his shoulder and whispered it in his ear. Unfortunately for him, Sam's father was standing behind him and within minutes the man was drug outside and left beaten and unconscious in the alley. Not many men or women in the neighborhood hit on Johnny’s golden boy after that.

"See? The crease is still there. I must not be saying the right thing."

"No, no I'm fine. Just lost in my own thoughts. Also I'm wondering if you're stalking me. Two days in a row, talking about my baked goods. It's practically obscene."

Alex let out a low laugh which did things to Sam's stomach. He could hear the man pull out the other chair at the table. 

"Bet you get that a lot. Stalking I mean, not baked goods," Alex said.

"Being blind scares off most of the boys and girls around here. They're not sure what to say or how to ask about it."

"Really? They scare too easily. So, what happened?"

Sam set himself up for that. "Obviously, it doesn’t scare you at all. It was an accident." An accident where his head bounced off a cement floor while being kidnapped to hurt his mob boss father. That story was a little much to share in a first conversation. "Only happened about six weeks ago."

"Well, you seem to get around pretty well. You're here every day so you must live nearby."

"No, I'm here because Ash drives me and takes care of everything for me." Sam waved his hand in the direction he thought the cafe's front door was in.

"You have a driver or... Wait, is the blond guy out front a bodyguard? This gets more interesting by the minute. I must be flirting with a famous person."

"Not famous. My father is a little protective after my accident." Sam changed the subject quickly. Discussion of his family was a sure way to chase this man away. "Do you live close by? You're in here every day as well."

"No, work started bringing me here recently." Alex had a soft but measured voice. It made Sam lean in towards the man slightly and he caught a smell of his light citrus scent again. It was a comforting smell, while it also made him nervous like a memory he couldn't recall or an itch he couldn’t scratch.

"Do we know each other? There's something about you. I feel like we know each other."

"Not many people know me and there aren't many people I want to know. I'm a pretty private person.”

Sam felt a hand wrap around his, a thumb rubbing the soft spot on the inside of his wrist. Since the kidnapping, he didn't let many people touch or hug him. He didn’t have many memories about what happened that night, but there were flashes of being restrained while other people pushed him around. This was different, soft and comforting, and Sam rolled his arm to the side, opening his hand under Alex's fingers, touching his arm with his fingertips. Alex pulled back and the touch was gone as quickly as it happened.

"I need to leave but perhaps I will see you tomorrow."

Alex's whiplash departures were giving Sam no small degree of sexual frustration. If the guy was interested, why did he keep running off?

The front door bells chimed and Ash shouted to him, "Hey, Sam, you ready to roll? Your dad is expecting you back at the house and we don't want to be late."

Sam thought of asking Ash if he had seen Alex, dying to know what he looked like or how old he was, but that would be a mistake. If Ash noticed a strange man talking to Sam, let alone touching him, it wouldn't end well for Alex. Meeting this stranger was a bright new light in his life and he wanted to keep it to himself.

\---

Sam's mood matched the day, grey and overcast. His headache lingered this morning as well as his dad's words at dinner last night. Sam asked about returning to college and taking classes. He heard about a special program at a school in Texas for the visually impaired and thought that perhaps he could finish his degree in psychology. Sam certainly wasn't contributing much to the world in his current state, sitting around the mansion.

His father went ballistic, not so much about going back to school but that Sam talked about the blindness as permanent. 

"You ready to give up now, boy? Just because your sight hasn't come back yet doesn't mean it won't. I need you. This family needs you. Or do you plan to walk away from us again? Hide out in your college classes, getting a degree that you will never use. Fuck that. You're staying right here where you can help the family and I can protect you."

Thinking of that memory, Sam ran his fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp in frustration. With everything that had happened in the past few weeks, his hair was getting long. It bothered his dad, which gave Sam another reason not to cut it.

"Hey there, I brought you a piece of Ellen's blueberry pie. This is my favorite." How was it that he never heard Alex walk up or order at the counter? The guy was like a ninja.

Alex set a fork down beside Sam's left hand as Sam murmured his thanks.

"So, Alex, what kind of work do you do that brings you to the coffee shop every afternoon?"

In the background, an angry voice reached Sam’s ears and sounded like it was at the counter. 

"Hey lady, don't mess with me. Just hand me the cash in the register and I won't hurt anyone. And tell your girl behind the espresso machine to fucking come out here where I can see both of you."

Sam's body tensed. He didn't carry his gun anymore and didn't know how to flag down Ash outside. He didn't have to worry long as he heard the front door open and Ash began to speak to the man at the counter. 

"What the fuck is going on here? Don't wave your gun around at these people, asshole. They’re just trying to make a living.” Subtlety was not Ash’s style.

Alex's hand closed around Sam's shoulder and he whispered in his ear, "You need to leave right now." Before he could think, he was pulled away from table and guided with a firm hand on his lower back. 

"Let’s get you out of here." Sam felt completely lost as the two of them moved quietly towards what he remembered was the back hall. Sam could still hear Ash trying to talk down the robber in his own intimidating way in the front room. Alex’s hand closed tightly around his arm and he manhandled Sam into the storage room, closing the door behind him.

"Wait, wait, what the hell are you doing?" Sam began to panic as Alex covered up his mouth and pushed him up against a wall.

"Sshh. Sshh. It's alright. Calm down. There's a gun man out front and I just want to keep you safe. That bastard’s not going to try to kill you today. Not again. Not while I'm here."

As Sam quieted down, Alex removed his hand but continued to remain pressed up against him.

"Wait, what do you mean, not again? I don't understand,” Sam whispered. Outside the door, the shouting escalated and then several shots rang out.

"Stay right here. I'm going to check to see if it's safe." Alex patted Sam's cheek and then slid his hand behind his neck and pulling him in for a quick kiss on the lips. It was firm and full, more comforting than sexually. The lemon of Alex’s cologne was stronger close up and Sam felt disoriented. He realized in that moment that he trusted Alex, who was some guy that he only met a few days ago. Sam trusted him with his life.

Once Alex was gone, the bathroom door shut behind him and Sam was left to catch his breath and put the pieces together. The way Alex hustled him out of the main room to safety reminded him of his father's bodyguards, cool and professional with one priority in mind – get the target out. That smell of lemon and coriander. He smelled it before and the first time wasn’t in the coffee shop. Sam flashed handcuffs and raised voices with a feeling of panic. The night he was kidnapped he smelled it. 

Fuck, this wasn't good.

The storeroom door opened again and he pulled back.

"How the hell did you get in here? You scared the crap out of me, disappearing like that," Ash said as he proceeded to pull Sam out of the storeroom.

"God, I wish everybody would stop pushing me around like a child." Sam yanked back his arm. 

"Settle down. Sam, I had to shoot that stupid bastard out front so now we have to wait here for the cops and your father won’t be happy. But here’s the kicker. That guy was no random robber. I've seen him before. He works for the Campbell family, or guess I should say he worked for them. Not that I'm telling the police any of this."

The Campbell family. Now he couldn't ignore the connection between his father’s enemies and Alex. It wasn't a coincidence that this particular man came into this coffee shop and started a conversation with Sam. If the Campbells sent someone with a gun after Sam today, it meant that they still had a hard-on for hurting or killing John's son and he wasn’t sure how Alex fit in but it wasn't going to end well.

Ash pushed Sam into his original seat by the window. "Ok, Sam, let's back up a minute. Who else was pushing you around? How did you end up in the storeroom? Because you sure as shit didn’t walk in there by yourself.”

Sam skimmed a hand through his hair, determining how much to share with his bodyguard. Alex was his secret. Alex kissed him, Alex protected him, and whoever Alex was, he was part of all this, part of the family that tried to kidnap him.

"Some guy trying to protect me. I think he just felt bad for the blind man." He shrugged his shoulder and laughed weakly but Ash wasn't buying it.

"Fast thinker, your Good Samaritan. Fast mover too. I didn't even see him. Who was he? What was his name?" 

Luckily, the cops showed up at that moment saving Sam from trying to explain. Statements were taken but no one seemed interested in talking to him, either because they recognized him or had an arrangement with his father or it was as simple as the fact that they figured the blind guy was not the best witness. The police quickly determined based on witness testimony that it was self-defense.

While the cops wrapped things up with Ellen and Jo at the counter, Ash sidled next to Sam. "You ready to answer my question? Who was the Good Samaritan? And don't tell me you don't know because you're acting shifty as fuck. Don't worry, I'm not going hurt him. Hell, I might just give him a medal."

"His name is Alex. I think he is a regular here. We said hi a few times. That's it."

"Uh huh. How come I've never noticed him?"

"I don't know what to tell you. Maybe he's not your type. And it's not like I can provide you a description." Sam gave Ash a bitter smirk. 

"Something about this stinks. And your friend Alex? The way he got you out of here so quickly. He could have taken you anywhere and I wouldn’t have seen it. Shifty. As. Fuck. Something is wrong with this story. Come on. Let's go. Your father is going to be furious at me."

"Trust me,” said Sam. “He won't be angry when he hears how you protected his precious son and all these fine civilians."

Ash cocked his head. “Are you kidding? Have you met your father?”

\---

Two weeks later, his father let him out of the house again. John was furious that Sam was caught in the crossfire of the robbery and Ash was reassigned to work bookie pick-ups for a while. Now he had Theo as his bodyguard. Big, tall and broad with a heavy beard, Theo was not much in the way of a sense of humor or good conversation but he was deadly with a gun.

It took some negotiations but eventually Theo agreed to give Sam some space and sat outside the front door of the coffee shop looking through the window not seven feet away. 

And Sam waited. The sun was warm once again on his back and Ellen's special dark roast in his cup. It should have made him happy but he was nervous now that he knew the truth. All Sam could think of was that voice and the smell of citrus. 

A newspaper was rattled at the table next to him. "I'm surprised your father let you come back here."

Sam smiled and turned towards Alex's voice. "I can be stubborn when I want something,” Sam said but his smile disappeared and his face scrunched with confusion. 

"You were there that night, weren't you? You were in that warehouse with me and you are part of all this."

"Don't turn towards me, and don't talk at me. Your bodyguard will come in if he sees you talking to me and then I will need to leave. If I leave, you will never hear from me again,” Alex said, clipped and serious.

Sam turned back to the table and lifted his coffee mug up to cover his mouth. 

"You were there that night,” Sam repeated.

"Yes, I was. How much do you remember?” Alex asked. Sam shook his head no. 

“After you were pushed down the stairs, well, things got a little crazy. We were only supposed to hold you for a few hours, throw the fear of God into John Winchester, get him to promise anything for your return. After you hit your head at the bottom of the stairs, they thought you were dead and everyone ran. When I was alone, I called one of your father's men from a public phone and gave him a lead on your location, hoping you were still all right."

Pushed down the stairs? Sam barely remembered any of that night. "So, you saved my life?"

The newspaper pages rattled again and there was a bitter laugh. "Saved? It never should have happened that way in the first place. My dad has no chill about the Winchesters, and your dad is such a dick, always has to win in the end. Everyone knows that the best way to hit John is through you. Unfortunately some of my father's men were enthusiastic about eliminating you before we had a chance to negotiate with your dad. We argued and I tried to leave with you."

My father? That meant Alex was really Dean Campbell. 

"And why would you care what they did to me, Dean? What does it matter to you?"

"Let's just say I know what it's like to pay for what your family has done. I know what it's like to not be able to break away from what your family expects. Hell, I'm no kidnapper, no killer, but that's what the family expects of me. I'm tired of it. As I watched you in the weeks before the kidnapping, I was more and more sure that you felt the same way. You are tired of it all too.”

Sam felt fingers graze his hand under the table. He reached for them but they pulled back.

"We don’t always have to do what our families tell us. So, what happens now?" Sam asked.

"Well, you get out of town, get far away from your father, drop off the radar and then you might be safe. Right now, my family sees red. All they know is that you are still alive and your father continues to attack our interests."

Sam chuffed out in frustration and replied, "Yeah, I'm working on that for myself. But what I meant was, what about us?" 

Inferring that there was something between them might have been too much. Sam wasn’t sure whether Dean might still walk out the door.

"If you get away from your family, then I will find you. I will find a way for us to be together."

Alex's smell - no, Dean's smell - came close to him again and then was gone as his footsteps receded once again towards the back hall of the cafe. The bells over the cafe door's front door rang.

"What's going on here? Was that guy bothering you?" Theo's deep voice said.

"What guy? Oh, you mean the newspaper guy? No, no, just asking me about the latest Yankees game. Like I care anything about that. We should head out. I have something I need to talk about with my father." 

If there was one thing Sam's dad taught him, it was how to be a good liar.

\---

Sam sat with the sun shining warm on his face, surrounded by the smell of the grass in the quad. The book in his hands lay forgotten in his lap in this peaceful moment between classes.

Coffee from the college canteen in Texas wasn't nearly as good as Ellen's back in New York but he wouldn't trade it for anything. Six months ago, he was blind. Now he saw everything clearly.

After Dean walked away that last time in the coffee shop, Sam went home to his father. He negotiated a lot of deals for John, and now Sam would negotiate for his life. Regardless if he ever saw Dean again, finishing college and getting out from the family was his priority. 

Sam could try to disappear, but knew his father would find him and any trust they had would be broken. If Sam talked about what he wanted with his father, they would stubbornly butt heads and that was a battle he would never win. Handling his dad’s deals and negotiating with criminals taught him one thing. Give them what they want while taking what you really need.

Instead of making demands that night, Sam and John talked about the best way to protect your family. He told his father that a mysterious man approached him at the coffee shop and said that the Campbells would continue to hunt Sam down and kill him to spite his father. Sam described a plan where he could stay in touch with his father but go far underground as a student in Texas but he needed his father’s help. It was all the truth but now his father saw college as a way to protect his son rather than an escape.

A miracle happened one week before Sam left New York. He woke up one morning and could see the sun shining through the curtains of his room. The only ones who knew that his vision had returned were Sam, his father, the doctor and Ash. If anyone thought to look for Sam elsewhere, they would be looking for a blind man.

Sam opened his eyes and looked around the quad. Students walking to class, people sitting in the sun or reading under the trees. It was all so normal and indescribably wonderful.

As he smelled lemons and felt a hand close on his shoulder from behind, he closed his eyes.

“Hey, I brought you a sandwich from the bakery. Thought you might be hungry after class.” 

Sam looked up into beautiful green eyes. “Yeah, I guess I am.”


	2. White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year after the kidnapping attempt in New York, Sam is like the other normal college students on campus until his past comes back for a visit and he must decide what direction his life will go.

All Sam could see was white. It must have been a blizzard that he was caught in, his steps slow and difficult slogging through drifts that were as high as his knees. He looked around for their car but could see nothing but white. 

"Dean! Where are you?" he called with no answer. His panic rose as the light through the snow seemed to brighten. "Dean! Dean, come back."

"Sam, I'm right here," a voice said from far away but he still couldn't see anything. "Sam, wake up."

A hand on his shoulder shook him gently. As his eyes opened from the dream, all he is could see was white. A white cotton cocoon that afforded no sight of the room around him. This time the moment of panic was real as he bolt straight up in bed, tossing the sheets away from him.

Dean stood next to his side of the bed, hair wet from the shower and holding a cup of coffee in his hand, green eyes soft and concerned as they met Sam's. 

"It's okay, Sammy. Just another bad dream. I'm right here."

Sam ran a hand through his long brown hair and rubbed his eyes. Funny how when he was blind, he lived in darkness for months but now that he could see, his nightmares were always white outs. White was supposed to be the color of purity and goodness in dreams according to his psychology classes but to Sam, these dreams left him feeling untethered as if he was floating away and there was no end to it.

He turned his bright hazel eyes up at Dean. "Is that coffee for me or did you just bring it to tease me?"

Dean broke into a wide smile and sat down on the mattress next to Sam. He handed the cup to him, saying, "Cream and sugar, just the way you like it, Sleeping Beauty. Gotta take care of you with your big mid-term this afternoon."

Sam sipped the smooth dark roast that was made from beans Dean bought especially for him. Coffee anchored him in the mornings and made him think of Dean and how they met.

Dean was wearing a pair of his black boxer briefs and his skin glowed in the early sunlight through their bedroom window. He reached his hand over, rubbing Sam's neck and then moved his hand down to his shoulder, moving his thumb in small circles on Sam's skin. His hand continued to drop along Sam's bare arm, smoothing along the back of his bicep and finally his fingers trailing along the sensitive skin on Sam's inner elbow. It was one of Dean's favorite spots because it always made Sam squirm underneath him.

He grabbed the cup of coffee out of Sam's hand, placing it on the night stand, and moved in for kisses along Sam's jaw and then a deeper kiss on the lips. His hand was back again, now pushing the sheets down past Sam's hips and coming back up to grab onto his partner's hip bone. Sam let himself go for a minute, sinking into the white linens and Dean's soft lips and tongue, before he pulled his head to the side.

"Don't start now. Really, I have to get going." Someone had to be the responsible one otherwise the two of them would never leave the bed. Sam looked at the clock and sat up, throwing the covers off onto Dean. "I need to shower and get to the library for a few hours before the exam." 

Sam stood up and his flannel pajamas pants slipped down a little lower on his thin hips. Dean snatched at his pants playfully. "That's fine, you giant nerd, but when we get home tonight that's another story. I will make a little pasta, we will drink a little wine and celebrate your exams being done." 

The drowsy morning sun and Dean sitting in their bed didn't nothing for his resolve to get moving but Professor Shurley's mid-term was waiting for him and it was one of the last requisite classes to finally get his degree. Tonight there would be plenty of time for the two of them.

\---

The haze had burned off mid morning as Sam left the psychology department building. His mid-term on Human Information Processing went well and Professor Shurley mentioned the undergraduate TA position to him for the Psych 101 course. If Sam wanted it, the position was his but he wanted to talk to Dean first. It was an honor that Chuck had chosen him but after laying low for a year and not drawing attention to himself or Dean in any way, he wasn't sure that taking a position like this was a smart move.

As he walked down the path to cross the parking lot, a large black car caught his attention. It was parked at an angle in a no-parking zone next to the curb with a man leaning up against the front fender. His aviator sunglasses reflected the sun back and his blond mullet stood out on a campus full of man buns and faux hawks.

Ash.

As Sam approached the large American-made car, Ash stood up and walked towards him. "Sam, it's good to see you. How was your exam?"

He hadn't seen his friend and former bodyguard in over a year. Ash was the only one other than his father, John Winchester, who knew where Sam was. Everyone else was told that John sent his unfortunate blind son away to a facility in Europe, looking for a cure and keeping him out of sight. What they didn't know was the cortical blindness from his head injury during the kidnapping had cleared up on its own before he left for Texas last year, and here he was, acting like any normal college student whose father wasn't a mob boss and whose boyfriend was the son of his family's mortal enemy. Blending in with thousands of other normal college students, Sam was a nobody here.

"Why are you here, Ash?" Sam stood toe to toe with his friend, his face stoic but his stomach rolling. He had an agreement with his father so it would have to be something serious to breach that.

"You never call, you never write." Ash crooked his head to the side and seemed to watch the other students walk by for a moment. A particularly pretty blond girl caught his eye. 

"It's John," Ash said bringing his attention back to Sam.

"He agreed that I could stay here."

"Yes, he did but I don't think he knew that you were shacking up with Dean Campbell."

Sam stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. A year of working out in the university gym put more muscle on his lean frame and made him a more imposing figure then when Ash last saw him. "What I do is my business. What does my father want, Ash?"

"John's dying. You need to come back to New York with me, right now."

\---

Sam pulled out two beers from the refrigerator and handed one across their small kitchen island to Ash. Sam wasn't a big drinker anyway and didn't normally drink before 5 p.m. but everything about this situation wasn't normal. As they settled into their stools on opposite sides of the island, they heard the sound of the front door being unlocked. 

"Honey, I'm home." The sing-song greeting was an old joke between Sam and Dean since neither of them were particularly domestic. 

Dean's footfall was silent as a cat and it was one of the first things that Sam noticed about him when they met in Ellen's coffee shop a year before. He had no idea that Dean was already in the kitchen and standing behind Ash until he heard the cock of the gun's hammer.

"How you doing, Sam? I didn't realize we were having guests." Dean's gun remained leveled at Ash's head as he moved slowly into the room to stand in front of Sam. "I saw that big black car parked in front of the building. Wasn't sure if it was your family or mine. Either way, I'm not a fan of unexpected guests."

Ash calmly put his palms against the cool granite countertop where Dean could see them. "You must be Dean. Glad to finally meet you in person since I heard so much about you back in New York. Sam and I were just catching up on family business."

Sam rolled his eyes and set his beer down and pushed it toward Dean. "It's alright, Dean. Ash knows all about us apparently."

"Oh, yeah? Your dad spying on you now, Sam?"

Ash blew out a small laugh. "No, I'm the one that's been keeping tabs on Sam and giving John reports. And trust me, he does not need to know what the two of you get up to. Especially now."

Dean looked over at Sam's drawn face and lowered the gun to the countertop, keeping his hand wrapped around it loosely.

"Why now? What happened?"

If Sam didn't know what to say to Dean before he arrived, his physical presence in the kitchen made it a thousand times more complicated. Sam sat down on one of the stools and pushed his hair away from his face and wondered where to start.

"John's dying and Sam needs to come home." Trust Ash to exhibit no subtlety in the situation.

Dean looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. "No, that's not possible. He's not going back to New York."

"Awww, isn't that sweet?" Ash drawled. "You act like you have some say in this but you don't. It's up to Sam and he needs to come home now." 

Ash went to stand up and Dean whipped the gun off the counter and pointed it at his face.

"Dean, I don't see a choice in this," Sam said, laying a hand on Dean's gun arm. "Apparently it's serious - Stage 4 pancreatic cancer. John didn't see a doctor until it was too late for treatment. If I don't leave now with Ash, I could miss my chance to say goodbye and I owe that to my father. He gave me this second chance."

Saying these words out loud confirmed that Sam had made his choice. He was going home. Despite the death threats from the Campbell family, despite the hatred that would lead his family to kill Dean on sight, Sam had to go. He and his father fought constantly when he was growing up but after the kidnapping, John gave him the chance to start new. He needed to say thank you and goodbye.

"Sam, come with me for a minute," Dean said as he pulled Sam by the arm out of the kitchen into the living room. He pointed to a large duffle bag, packed and sitting on the living room floor. "You already made up your mind. You were going to leave without me."

"No, I wouldn't do that to you. We were waiting so I could tell you what was happening." Sam calmly said.

"Then I need to go with you. There is no way you should go alone, unprotected. This is exactly the type of situation that the other families would take advantage of, including my family.

"I won't be unprotected. Ash will be with me the whole time."

Dean ran a hand down his face, rubbing the growth of his beard and laughing in frustration. "Did you forget, Sam, that's how I met you? Right under Ash's nose. Forgive me if the thought of him and his protection doesn't comfort me. C'mon on, Sam. You have to know that I am not letting you go by yourself."

Dean's eyes pleaded with him for understanding, that he was unable to let Sam walk out that door without him.

Sam looked around their small apartment. The bookcase lined with his textbooks and Dean's science fiction and Vonnegut paperbacks. His brown canvas backpack still filled with his notes for Professor Shurley's class. The beat-up leather couch where they spent their evenings eating Chinese food and watching old Bruce Willis movies with Sam's head resting in Dean's lap. It was all so normal and about to be blown up by this decision.

He reached for Dean, pulling them together so their foreheads touched. He then kissed him gently on the lips.

"I'm sorry. I don't want to go but I have to, and I need to do it alone. I won't risk you being there with the rest of John's organization around. That's stupid."

Dean looked one final time at Sam's face before he turned and went up the stairs without another word while Sam picked up the duffle bag and called for Ash.

\---

Walking through the front door of the mansion, everything looked the same. It was the same snow white marble floor and entry steps as when he was six years old. He would run through the foyer, shouting to hear his voice echo off the cold hard surfaces. It was the same white tile where he stood arguing with his father as he left for college the first time, same duffle bag in hand and his brown backpack on his shoulder. And it was the same white marble that greeted him when he reluctantly returned at his father's insistence three years ago when Sam was forced to drop out of school.

At that time, he was heartbroken over Jess's abandonment and what he was sure was John's interference. This time he had Dean waiting for him. He had a future and school waiting back in Texas. This trip was only temporary. He would see his father and then leave to go back to his real home.

A bearded man in a sharp black suit that Sam didn't recognize crossed the entryway. As Sam dropped his duffle bag, the man extended his hand in greeting. "You must be Sam. John's told me so much about you. I'm Crowley. I have been helping your father settle some of his legal matters over the past few weeks."

"Figures you would be lurking around the house when we arrive, Crowley." Ash called out as he shut the front door behind him. "Sam, this is the lawyer your father hired. Don't believe a word that comes out of his fucking mouth."

Ash reached down and grabbed the handles of Sam's bag and started up the stairs. Sam turned back to look at Crowley. If the man was wondering why John's blind son was no longer blind, he didn't show it. 

"Nice to meet you, Mr Crowley. If you'll excuse me, I'd like to find my father," Sam said, moving swiftly to follow Ash upstairs.

"Such a polite young man. You don't see that much any more." Crowley looked up at Ash's back with a squint of his eyes. "I'm sure we will be talking more in the next few days, Sam."

When Ash reached the top of the stairs, he turned left towards Sam's old bedroom while Sam turned right, following the cream colored carpet in the hallway to a pair of double doors that were cracked open. Sam could hear voices as he approached. One was the bass tones of his father's voice and the other was one he didn't recognized. 

"John, no need to get out of bed. I'm sure the boy will be up shortly."

Sam stepped inside and took in the scene. His father was struggling to sit up in bed, his shaggy dark hair and beard a contrast to the thin blonde man trying to hold him down. The weight loss was marked. His father, always a strong and muscular man who was bigger than life, looked like half of his former self. At that moment, John looked up at Sam standing by the door and his deep brown eyes began to well with tears. He settled back on the pillows stacked against the headboard as if the effort had exhausted him.

"Glad you could make it, son. Dr. Jackson, this is my boy Sam. Now leave us alone for a while. We have things to talk about."

The doctor gathered up a blood pressure cuff and a few other items from John's night stand and stuffed them into his black leather bag. He started to say something to Sam but instead gave a small nod as he headed out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

John followed Sam's progress across the room, never losing eye contact and not saying a word. The bed dipped down as Sam sat beside him, hiking up his knee for balance.

"Why did you wait to tell me?" he said softly.

"Because of this. Because I knew that you would come home right away. I made you do that before, drop everything to work by my side and support me and look how that turned out last time." John seemed out of breath with the effort of talking. "All I did was put you in danger. How I lived my life, what I built. It all foolishly put the one thing I loved at risk. Crazy how it took cancer to teach me that. You have a life now and should be able to live it away from me."

"Dad, I wanted my own life but that doesn't mean that I didn't want to see you. Everything is so complicated now." Sam looked at his hands, wishing he tell his father about Dean and what it meant to have someone who gave him everything he needed.

"Why don't we talk more tomorrow? I need a little sleep now but the attorney can explain some of the legal steps I'm taking and answer your questions." John's eyes glazed over and he turned his head away into the white pillowcase.

"Yeah, Crowley. I met him and I can't wait." Sam looked for a laugh from his father but he was already asleep. He stayed seated next to him, listening as his breathing finally even out. John looked peaceful for a moment before his forehead wrinkled in pain. Sam thought that tomorrow he would talk to the doctor to find out about John's pain management and what treatments he had received so far.

Heading to bed for a few hours of sleep sounded like the best thing tonight to prepare for tomorrow. As Sam walked into the hallway, the phone is his pocket buzzed with a text alert from an unlisted number.

R U Ok?

Even when they fought, Dean's first concern was always Sam. While he couldn't remember the night of his kidnapping or Dean's part in it in all, he trusted the man. All the stories of the Campbells spoke of how violent and egotistical they were. Certainly they remained focused on hurting the Winchesters and their businesses. He shook his head and thought how he had never seen this legendary heartlessness in Dean first hand, but it must be there underneath it all.

Sam needed to find a way to talk to John about Dean. He wasn't sure how to do it but needed to clear the air on everything with his father before it was too late.

\---

The leaves blew across the cemetery grass, their fall colors of red and gold long leached from them, leaving dried white husks skittering along the ground in front of the red marble of John Winchesters tombstone. As the service ended, Sam found himself staring at the white lilies that lined the top of the casket.

He felt so hollow. He was only home a day before John's condition worsened, as if he had waited just to see Sam again before letting go. There had been no time to talk about Sam's life and the role that Dean played in it. There was only time in the end to sit by his father's bedside and comfort him through the pain.

A strong hand grabbed Sam's upper bicep and an English voice in his ear told him that they needed to leave. Crowley was a stranger to Sam but apparently his father trusted enough to put in charge of his legal affairs and he wanted to be Sam's friend and protector, not realizing that he was wanted for neither role.

Sam raised his eyes, taking in the retreating backs of the mourners who were dressed in black. Partners of their businesses, their extended family, people from their old neighborhood. All of these people seemed unable to grasp that John Winchester the legend and the family head was gone. Sam was sure that many of these same people wondered about John's son and the future of the family.

As he looked around, Sam's eyes caught on those of a man at the edge of the crowd. Familiar bright green eyes under a Yankees ball cap. Sam's heart flipped and he shallowed down an instinctive shout to Dean, who nodded his head slightly and mouthed the words "I'm sorry". Dean's eyes shifted to Sam's left side and to the hand still guiding him by the arm. Those green eyes hardened as they took in Crowley's possessive posture and a chill went through Sam at that look, at the potential for violence in the man he loved. Dean turned away and melted into the crowd, unseen by the other members of the Winchester family.

As Sam walked back to the sleek black limousine parked on the path, the first snow of winter began to fall in heavy white flakes. Sam paused and turned his face up to the sky, unable to go back and unsure how to go forward in that moment. Instead he waited on the gravel walkway and watched the snow fall, remembering from one of his Philosophy classes that white was also the color for death in many Asian cultures. Unlike the darkness that the Western world attached to death, white symbolized a transition from one life to another. 

Sam took a deep breath of the cold still air and stepped into the waiting limousine.


	3. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the death of John, Sam must deal with his father's legacy and with what he wants for his future.

The hands that moved down his chest felt good, cool against the heat of the room. His vision was a murky red against closed eyelids as he struggled briefly against the dream, unable to talk or move, floating in the no-man's land between sleep and wakefulness. 

Whisky consumed at John's wake the night before acted as a cement block to Sam's consciousness and kept him firmly pulled under in the dream, pleasantly immersed in the feeling of these dream hands. They were moving gently over his body, traveling up his stomach to his chest where one finger rubbed over his left nipple, causing him to shiver. His breath came out as a gasp like a small bubble breaking the surface of the water.

This was a fantastic dream but it left Sam wanting more, knowing that he didn't have the real thing next to him.

Strong fingers moved up his shoulders to his neck where a thumb lightly rubbed his jawline and then moved to stroke that small sensitive spot under his ear that only Dean knew about. The sensation and the memory caused Sam to break the surface of his dream and moan like a man desperate for air. His eyes started to flutter open when a very real hand slipped into his hair holding his head firmly in place while another hand covered his mouth.

"Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty."

That familiar rasp in his ear pulled Sam all the way to consciousness immediately and he looked up into Dean's green eyes. His body was held immobile, pressed into the mattress by the weight of Dean's body. Sam's eyes went from drowsy to intensely turned on to panic in a few seconds.

"Ssshh. Ssshh. It's all right, Sam. You need to be quiet though. We don't want the others to join our little party, right?" Dean whispered and once Sam nodded, the other man released the hand over his mouth, while stroking his hair with the other one.

"What are you doing here?" Sam looked around the room for some sign how Dean had gotten into his bedroom when the Winchester mansion was surrounded by his family's bodyguards.

In the low illumination of the small light next to his bed, Dean's face above him was half in shadows. He was cast in red glow from the lampshade and the effect was beautiful and eerie as if Sam hadn't fully awakened from his dream.

"Quite a party you had for John's wake last night," Dean smirked. "Even the men outside are sleeping off a hangover. By the way, you really should talk to someone about trimming up the trees by your balcony." 

"You climbed up my balcony? What are you, Romeo?" Sam laughed affectionately.

"Which makes you Juliet, idiot. Well, I couldn't very well stroll through the front door, could I?" 

Dean Campbell would have been the last person welcomed at John Winchester's funeral or wake. He also would be shot on sight if caught in Sam's bedroom in the middle of the night.

"Much as I love you waking me up in the middle of the night like this, you need to leave now. You don't need to take this risk. I'm fine."

Dean stood up and threw the covers all the way off of Sam. John kept the mansion warmer than most people felt comfortable with and the joke with his father's men was that it was like living in a greenhouse. However, with Dean looking down at him as he lay there exposed with only his boxers on, Sam felt goosebumps. Whether it was the arousal on Dean's face or the fact that John's men were sleeping in the room next door, Sam felt a wave of want hit him so hard that he had to close his eyes against it.

Dean's hand moved slowly up the inside of his leg but stopped when it came to his thigh. Sam's cock harden in anticipation and he had to grab the sheets on either side of his body to keep himself in place. Dean nudged at Sam's thigh with his hand and Sam responded to the unspoken request by opening up his legs even further. He couldn't remain still, squirming under the silent scrutiny.

"Dean..." he breathed out.

Suddenly the warmth and weight of Dean's body was surrounding Sam, as Dean kneeled on the mattress over him. A knee was pressed between his open legs and push against his balls and Sam immediately began to rub against it in small, controlled motions, with the friction and pressure intense compared to the light touches before. Dean captured his wrists and pulled Sam's arms up and over his head. The feeling of that pull in his shoulders and arms and the weight on his body as Dean settled on top of him felt so good that Sam let out another groan, which his partner's mouth quickly covered.

"No noise, Sam. You gotta be good for me, ok?" Dean whispered in his ear. His breath was warm against Sam's cheek as he moved back into position to nuzzle along Sam's jawline. Sam felt his face flush as Dean's rough stubble and soft lips moved down his collarbone and he couldn't resist the urge to hitch his hips more urgently against the knee in the middle of his legs. The drag of their cocks between the thin cotton of Sam's boxers and the rough denim of Dean's jeans caused him to close his eyes again and slow down his breathing as he attempted to control the orgasm that was building.

Sam loved it when Dean held him down like this, forcing him to take whatever he gave. There were times when he needed it so badly, to turn over that control to someone else. After he regained his sight, there were times when life was too overwhelming and he couldn't get away from the thoughts in his head. Giving up control to Dean in their bed had nothing to do with power. It had to do with care. Sam felt surrounded by love and comfort with this man. That had never happened with other lovers because he never trusted any of them like he trusted Dean.

Dean released one of Sam's arms and reached down between them, snaking his fingers beneath the waistband of Sam's shorts, finding his hardened cock and stroking it to fullness. Sam reached up above him to grab onto the metal bars of his headboard, pulling and pushing against that exquisite pressure, gritting his teeth to keep his silence. 

"C'mon Sam. It's all right. You can let go."

"Dean, fuck..." Sam's whisper was once again filled with Dean's wet mouth and tongue. Between the heat of his mouth and the pull of his hand, it was too much. Sam felt his orgasm rising like a tide he couldn't stop, his balls tightening and had no where to go with it as Dean held him down. He spasmed beneath that weight and muscle, knocking the headboard into the plaster wall as he came over the top of Dean's hand and onto his stomach.

Dean pulled away from their kiss and smiled. "God, you're always so noisy. It's amazing our neighbors never complained."

Sam laughed weakly. "Fuck you. I wasn't expecting this tonight and it's been too long."

Dean stood up, wiping his hand absently on the bedding, and Sam reached out, grabbing the waistband of his jeans. "Where do you think you're going? We're not done yet."

He sat up at the edge of the bed and pulled Dean back into the v of his legs, kissing his stomach lightly. 

"No, Sam, today's a big day for you and you need to stay focused." Dean pushed away and turned his head so that his face fell into the shadows. "Dealing with John's estate, meeting with the heads of different families. So, I guess that Crowley will be with you the whole time, holding your hand?" Dean had always been protective before, but back in Texas where there was only Sam and Dean, there was never call for him to be possessive. 

Sam made a face at the lawyer's name and went to pull Dean more closely. Crowley was easily put off after the graveside service, with Sam's claim that he wanted to focus on friends and family first and the business second. He was only a necessary evil over the next few days, nothing more. "I need time to sort things out and then you and I can figure out what comes next."

The corners of Dean's mouth pulled down and he tilted his head. "Do you think it will be that easy, Sam?"

At that moment, a knock sounded on the bedroom door and Dean pulled back around to the far side of the bed, his hand on the gun in his back waistband. Sam wiped his stomach off with the sheet and stood up.

"Everything all right in there, Mr. Winchester? Someone heard a noise," Theo's deep voice came through the door.

"No, no, it's fine." As the steps receded from the other side of the door, Sam looked back over his shoulder. The door to the balcony was open and Dean was gone.

\---

Discussions about John's businesses, both legitimate and illegal, went on for three hours. Sam sat behind his father's desk in the library listening to Crowley and the accountant outline assets, partnerships and outstanding loans. While he followed it better than most 22 year olds would, Sam could not care less about the future of these businesses or the revenue they would generate for him in the future. 

"How quickly can you liquidate?" Sam pushed back in the desk chair, crossing his arms. He chose to meet these men and heads of the various families in a white dress shirt and tailored gray slacks, hoping that he would appear more authoritative than the student he was. All this talk about his father's businesses made him realize that he wanted none of it.

"Liquidate?" Crowley repeated back to him, confused by the question. "Which part?"

"All of it. Everything. How quickly?" Sam said. The nameless accountant blanched and began to examine the spreadsheets in front of him.

"Sell it off? I don't think you understand." Crowley tapped the top of John's desk angrily. "This isn't some used car you sell on eBay. Some of these businesses are based on partnerships that took years to establish and negotiate. You don't just sell off something like that. It would disturb the balance between the families and result in a massive power grab by everyone. You may not like the thought of running these yourself but you would definitely not like the chaos and bloodshed involved if you walk away."

Sam swiveled the chair towards the large bay window overlooking the backyard. This is where John sat and made many of these decisions and Sam wasn't sure how to react. For the first time, he noticed his mother's rosebushes outside the window. Although he didn't remember her well, John told him many stories including her love of the award-winning red blooms. Now in winter, they were covered in burlap and sat silently covered in snow. He never noticed before how his father's view out this window focused solely on those red roses.

A knock at the library door was immediately followed by Ash sticking his head in. "Sam? You have visitors. It's important."

"He's not available right now," Crowley responded. 

Sam swiveled back in the chair and looked at Ash's pale face. They were all rattled by John's death but Ash's expression caught his attention. "Who is it?"

"Samuel Campbell and his son."

Crowley jumped up at the announcement and turned to Sam. "Fuck that, we didn't invite him here. Who does he think he is? Does he have no respect? John has been dead for only three days and he thinks he can come in and intimidate you. Tell Samuel and his boy that they can both go to hell."

"No," Sam interrupted. "Ash, show them into the front sitting room. I'll be out in a few minutes." 

Ash nodded at Sam's request and left the room. 

"Mr. Crowley, I appreciate your concern on this but I have met with the head of every family except the Campbells. It needs to happen and it might as well happen on our home turf, where I can make an impression on them. Maybe a little mutual respect will help to repair the relationship between us."

Crowley sneered at that. "Mutual respect? From what I heard, Samuel and his boy tried to kill you last year. There is no 'repairing the relationship' after that."

That was true, but there was no way Sam was going to give up an opportunity to see Dean. Sam waved Crowley off and turned the chair back around to look out the window at the rosebushes again, their beauty unrecognizable under the dark burlap, waiting for the spring.

\---

Fifteen minutes later, Sam walked into the formal front room. A massive fireplace and expansive hand-knotted Persian rug with a thick tread and red and gold pattern dominated the room. Sam used to play in this room when he and Ash were young, and Ash's dad would come by to meet with John. The rug always brought back memories of their wrestling matches or how they would measure how far they could jump off the couch cushions. Inevitably, John would arrive, yelling and telling them to break it up. His dad looked so tall and stern standing in the doorway and Ash would dash out of the room around his legs while Sam was the one left behind either to offer denials of any wrongdoing or half-hearted apologies. John would scoop him up under his arm, ignoring his boy's righteous indignation at being treated like a baby.

Across that same crimson rug, Samuel Campbell stood at the opposite end of the room. His broad back was turned to Sam and he stood looking out the window, casual as a marine corps colonel at parade rest. Samuel reminded him of John in his obvious physical strength with the broad shoulders and strong arms until he turned to face Sam. John's face was always alive with emotion - laughter, disappointment, anger. Samuel's face seemed to be frozen in condescension, a hardness in his eyes, that made Sam realize that any effort to fix their families was in vain.

His eye was then drawn to the person standing to Samuel's right, who was examining the titles of the books in John's bookcase. His dark blonde hair, the familiar black leather jacket with its silver zippers and boots with blue jeans. Sam's heart stopped for a minute. Looking at Dean always did that to him.

Dean turned and stared, his eyes traveling down from Sam's face to his expensive shirt, tailored slacks and black leather dress shoes. Sam blushed, realizing that the outfit was far and away from his beat-up crimson hoody and threadbare jeans that he wore everyday in Texas. He never wore shoes in their Texas apartment, which made Dean crazy, preferring to go barefoot and feeling the rugs and hardwood under his feet. 

Only a week later and Dean looked the same as always but Sam looked like another person altogether.

"Was wondering how long we were going to be kept waiting for you," Samuel's harsh voice intruded on his memories of home.

"Yes, we were wrapping up a few things," Sam nodded at Crowley and Ash who walked in behind him.

"No need for bodyguards and lawyers, boy," Samuel responded as he eyeballed the other two in the room. "We're just here to pay our respects to John and talk a little business."

Sam tilted his head to the side as he considered Samuel. He just met the man in person and already his hackles were up. He wondered how Dean dealt with it every day growing up. 

"I'm not your boy and you can cut the crap about my father. What business do you want to talk about?"

"Like father, like son. Rude and thinking your shit don't stink. Fine, let's get to it then. You have a problem and I can help you." Ash became restless at these words and positioned himself closer to Sam. Solutions involving the Campbells usually resulted in violence.

"I have a lot of problems and most of them are your fault," Sam hissed between his teeth, unable to maintain even a facade of politeness.

"John had a lot of partnerships and business interests and was stretched too thin at the end. There is no way that you'll be able to control any of these deals with the other families. Between our interests, we control all of the import and distribution side of things as well as oversight of bookies and entertainment. Let me fold your operations into mine and I will cut you in for a healthy percentage, son, then you can get back to whatever it is that you've been doing the past year."

It was everything that Sam wanted, to be able to walk away and not have the responsibility or interest in John's illegal activities. But of course, Samuel couldn't leave it alone with a simple offer.

"I must say, you're getting around pretty well for a blind guy. It all came as a shock to us when we heard that you were back in town and somehow got your sight back miraculously."

"It must be disappointing to have nothing to show for all your efforts last year, Samuel. First I survived the kidnapping by your men and their attack. But at least I was blinded, right? John's son might be alive but he was useless. Now that I have my sight came back, it must be so bitter. Tell me, what's it like to fail at the one thing you wanted so badly? What makes you think that I would forget what you put me through, and then partner with you on anything now?" 

Sam couldn't stop the flow of angry words. Like father, like son.

"Because you aren't made for this business, son, and anyone with eyes can see that. You're soft and sheltered. No good to anyone. Better to work with me now, making it nice and easy for everyone. Otherwise, I have to carve it up bloody and destroy your organization piece by piece."

Samuel was threatening him in his own house in front of his own people? The fucking egotism had Sam seeing red. He stepped up to the older man and while Samuel had more weight, the younger man had the height advantage. "Get out now before I shoot you myself."

"Well, there's our answer, Dean. I always said that the Winchesters thought they were too good for the rest of us. Let it begin then." Samuel bumped into Sam's shoulder as he moved past Crowley out of the room.

Dean walked up to Sam, his eyes unreadable. 

"Why are you here with him?" Sam asked quietly but Dean just shook his head minutely and followed after Samuel.

Feeling the tide of his emotions rising up, Sam caught sight of his father's bar in the corner of the room and stalked over, grabbing a crystal highball glass and filling it halfway up with whisky. As he looked into the bottom of that glass filled with the brown liquid, the red of the Persian rug reflected back through the glass making it look like blood. His hand shook a little as he slugged down the alcohol in one go.

"I know you don't want to hear this, and I loathe the man myself, but there is some truth to what Samuel said," Crowley started.

"Shut up and get out." Sam said as he grabbed his phone out of his pocket and typed in a text message to the unlisted number from the day before. 'I need to see you'.

Sam stalked across the foyer and took the stairs two at a time. He needed out of this suit, out of this house and away from everyone. As he reached the top, his phone buzzed in reply. 'Tomorrow 8 am Gershon Park.'


	4. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When family pulls you back in, how do you find your way back out?

The bench that Sam sat on was painted sky blue and stood out optimistically against the white of the snow. As he sat waiting, he noticed a gash next to him on the bench seat. Someone had stabbed it hard enough to gauge through to the wood underneath showing off the previous paint colors like rings on a Redwood tree. Sam picked at the edges of the gash with his nail, flicking and peeling back the bright blue edges to reveal dark red and under that, layers of white and black. Now the simple cut was an eyesore that looked like a ragged wound.

Sam took a sip from his coffee cup but the brown liquid was already cold. The park was a place that he came to as a child. Down the hill, he saw the small frozen pond where Ash's father taught the two boys to ice skate when they were six. While they fooled around that first day, Ash fell down and broke his wrist and they made a trip to the local emergency room

"You're making the unhappy face again," Dean said as he sat down on the bench next to Sam, leaving some distance between them.

"It's fucking freezing out here and my coffee is too cold to drink because you're late." Sam set the cup down and pulled the dark beanie low over his ears, snuggling deeper into his hoody, the gray suit forgotten after Dean and Samuel's visit.

Dean nodded his head to both comments. "I had to make sure you were alone. I'm surprised that they let you out of the house."

"It turns out that once you're the boss, you can tell your employees what to do. They weren't happy, especially Ash, but when I said I was leaving alone, there is nothing they could do about it."

"Well, look at you, taking charge." The two of them always joked, trading jabs back and forth but in this circumstance it had a bitter ring.

"What, did you think I couldn't take charge? That I was too much of a naive child to deal with the world outside of college? I was part of this world before I left for school." Sam in his anger didn't want to hear Dean's response, thinking only of how betrayed he felt watching the other man stand next to his father in the library the day before.

"Actually, I think you're capable of doing anything you want. My question is what do you want, Sam? You looked pretty comfortable yesterday in the mansion with your lawyers and accountants, so maybe you've changed your mind. Maybe our simple life during the last year isn't doing it for you now that you're back. Maybe you want to take over things and replace your father."

Sam looked at Dean's face for sarcasm, to find the joke behind his words and instead found that Dean's eyes were looking at him for an honest answer, something that would relieve the hurt. "How could you think that? I don't want any of this."

"And yet you turned down Samuel's offer," Dean prodded gently.

Sam felt the tendrils of betrayal flare up inside him from the meeting the day before, of seeing Dean next to Samuel in the library keeping mute while the older man berated him.

"Explain this to me, Dean. Why were you there with him? I thought you were here under the radar and yet, there you were, standing by his side. Samuel's prodigal son. So I have to ask myself, are you the one who is rethinking this thing between us? Throwing in with your father now? I thought you hated him and hated what he wanted for you or maybe that was just easier to do when we were far away in Texas?" Sam finished his rant, his color high and his eyes flashing. 

Dean was silent for a moment, looking out over the empty park and then up at the cold blue sky overhead. "I'm the one who talked him into coming to you with that offer. Not because I owe him anything, but because it offered you an easy solution. A way out, Sam, which is what you want, right?"

Sam's eyes narrowed, "I would never partner with him after all that he said and all that he's done to me and my family. And Samuel's no fool. He must have been suspicious with your sudden return after he were gone for the better part of a year. C'mon, Dean, what does he think you were doing all that time, out on a road trip? What did he say when you showed up again or was he just happy to see his one and only son?"

Dean sighed and turned back to look at Sam and despite the man's angry taunts, he looked resigned. "You give my relationship with Samuel the same importance as the relationship you had with John, but it's not the same thing at all. I'm just a tool to him and Samuel doesn't care about tools except when he needs them. He could care less where I was, but if I'm here then he expects that I will report for duty. Sam, there is something else you need to understand. I'm not his real son."

"What do you mean, not his real son? He calls you his son." Sam's forehead crinkled up in confusion.

"Yeah, well, it's easy for him to keep up the appearance with his crew. In Samuel's mind, it was better for his people to think he fathered some random bastard than for them to know that his precious daughter had a baby at 15. He sent her away to live with cousins when her pregnancy started to show. A few days after she gave birth, she took off. I guess it's another example of how the Campbells aren't role models for familial love."

Dean looked so worn down in the thin morning light. Sam wanted to comfort him but was taken aback. How had they lived together for months and Sam didn't know any of this about Dean and his family? Had Sam been so self involved with getting his sight back and having a second chance to go back to college that he didn't ask the right questions, didn't spend the time he should have to know more about the man he loved?

"I can see you overthinking things as usual, Sam, so stop it now," Dean said as he wrapped his warm hand around Sam's cool wrist. "Nobody knows about this except those few cousins who took care of my mom when she was pregnant. When she ran away, they called Samuel about what to do with the baby. He had no heirs left and decided to decided to raise me as his good little soldier instead of giving me up. Every chance he got, Samuel reminded me that he could have thrown me out on the street, that I should be grateful for what I was given and accept my role. I thought there was nothing else for me in this world but serving the family, and I believed that until I met you. Have a little faith in me, Sam. Everything I say, everything I do today, it is for us. You are my family, not Samuel."

Dean's thumb rubbed the inside of Sam's wrist, much as he did in the coffee shop so long ago only now the warmth of Ellen's place was replaced by the bracing cold of a New York park. The touch still caused Sam's blood to heat up and he leaned in for a soft kiss.

"I'm sorry."

"Then seriously think about Samuel's offer and we can get out, leave all this behind us."

Sam pulled back. "I would love that more than anything but the thought of him taking over what my father built makes me sick. I would rather destroy my family's businesses then hand them over to a man like him. Burn it all down, and somehow make Samuel go to hell for everything he did to me and my family or to you."

Dean grabbed him behind the neck and pulled Sam in for another kiss, this one hard and heated in the cold air on that blue bench. "Well, if a friendly merger is off the table then I guess it's time for Plan B."

\---

The waterfront warehouse sat forgotten by the river, its utilitarian slate paint peeling in strips off the sides and the old ropes left on the dock graying with disuse. It was the perfect location for under the radar meetings within John's organization. 

Sam and Dean stood on the dock behind the building, watching the twilight descend and the sky turn from indigo to a soft purple. Their hands were shoved deep in their pockets against the chilly winter night and Sam's cheeks were red from the breeze with his hair ruffled with each gust. Dean gazed at his face as the brunette looked out across the river and then turned his gaze upwards towards the emerging stars.

"C'mon, let's get inside," he motioned with his head to Dean.

"Just appreciating the quiet before the storm," the older man said, his mouth turning down at the ends as he looked at his partner's face. "You know it's not too late to call this off. There were too many variables with Samuel. Too many ways tonight could go wrong."

"No, I'm ready. Time to end this." 

Sam was jumpy and eager, his skin too tight around him. He quickly scanned the snowy parking lot outside of the building, turning on his heel and entering the warehouse through its side door without a look backwards. 

The thin winter light coming through the ceiling sky lights did little to illuminate the scattered shelving and tables. Sam found his way through the mess and entered the small enclosed office. While the rest of the warehouse appeared dusty and disused, the office was clean with a large industrial desk and office chairs.

Sam pulled out his cell and speed dialed #4. "Give us 30 minutes."

Dean leaned against the doorway as Sam put the phone in his jacket pocket and turned around with a smile. "It's almost show time." 

He stalked over to Dean, putting his hands on the man's hips and yanking him close. Dean's eyes widened in surprise at Sam's forceful action but seeing how his partner was pumped with adrenalin for the coming night, he went in for a kiss. Sam deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue inside while reaching his arm under Dean's jacket and pulled out the Glock in his partner's back waistband of his jeans. Sam held it out at arm's length playfully while continuing their kiss. Dean reached for it but the other man tossed it on the seat of one of the chairs while walking him over to the desk. The back of his thighs hit the edge of the desk hard and he was forced to sit, while Sam grabbed a hold of his shoulders while continuing the kiss.

"Sam, we don't have time for this." Dean's voice was soft and his breath shortened. It was rare that the younger man was aggressive like this, taking control of the situation sexually. Sam was so beautiful, with hIs eyes dilated almost black and his lips a shiny pink with the blush across his cheeks from the cold wind. Dean would do anything for him when he was like this.

"Sure we do. Crowley won't be here for 30 minutes and Samuel is not due for another hour. Which means he will be here in 30 too. Plenty of time." Sam pushed Dean onto his back on the desktop, with his legs dangling over the edge with only the tips of his toes touching the floor. "If shit's going down tonight, then I want a chance to be with you like this. Dean, just let me, ok?"

Dean reached for Sam but he brushed him off, unbuckling his belt and yanking down his jeans so they lay open at the hips. The motion revealed his black briefs which Sam tucked his fingers under, pulling them down and freeing Dean's cocks into the cool air.

Sam licked his lips and looked like sucking Dean's cock was a life-or-death mission, his forehead furrowed in concentration. 

"Don't think that I am not dying to have your mouth on my cock like this, but I don't want to get caught with my jeans around my ankles when everyone shows up, Sam," he panted, the blood flow to his brain shut off.

"Would I do that to you? Trust me and have a little faith, remember?" Sam smiled at him as he ran his hands down the front of Dean's clothed thighs. He then ran his warm tongue along the cold tip of his dick.

"Fuck," Dean blurted out, banging his head against the table top. "Are you trying to kill me?"

Sam took his cock down in one quick motion all the way to the back of his throat, and as Dean moaned, Sam moved his thumbs over his partner's hip bones, pressing down hard enough that there would be bruises but then released them, stroking softly. His mouth moved up and down with increasing suction as if he needed to make Dean come in the next three minutes. Dean snaked one of his hands down to cup the back of Sam's head, to slow him down or drag him closer, he wasn't really sure. His hand hovered over the long brown curls but he hesitated to grab hold like he wanted, recognizing from the small choked noises that Sam was making that he needed to set his own pace, to be in control.

When Sam added his fingers to his lips around Dean's cock a few minutes later, squeezing and twisting on the upstroke, the added pressure jump started his orgasm. His hips jerked up from the desk as he came hard inside of that hot mouth. 

Sam seemed unaware for a moment, lost to the sensation and continued to suck him down for a few more pulls with his mouth as Dean groaned in a mix of pleasure and pain. 

A metallic screech sounded out in the main warehouse as a door was pulled open. Sam pulled off and reached around to pull his own Glock out of a shoulder holster under his jacket. He gave Dean a tight smile, leaving him sprawled across the desk.

"Show time," he repeated, turning and jogging out the office door to meet their first early arrivals.

\---

"Samuel, I wish I could say it's good to see you again. Looks like you didn't get my note about when to show up. Either that or you can't read well. I should have known it was probably the latter." 

The predatory smile on Sam's face and the drawn gun in his hand threw off Samuel after meeting the mild mannered college student yesterday. He assumed a lot of things about this second meeting but an aggressive and armed Sam was not what he expected, which is why he was smart to disregard the request to come alone.

"And I see you brought one of your goons with you," Sam tsked dismissedly. "Not very good with instructions, are we? Probably why a partnership between us would never work."

Samuel's face went red at Sam's taunts and he glanced back at his man, who had probably never heard such blatant disrespect of his boss before.

"Why are you wasting my time if you didn't want to come to terms, boy? Why are we here?"

At that moment, Dean appeared through the office doorway with his gun in one hand, running the other hand through his hair and then tucking his shirt back in his pants. He was a disheveled mess and Sam noticed with satisfaction that Dean looked like he was just on the receiving end of some amazing sex.

"Dean, glad you could join us," Sam smiled at him.

Samuel's jaw tightened for a moment as he looked between the two of them, quickly putting the pieces together. "I see you two boys have been busy. I was wondering where you went off to this morning, Dean. Looks like you decided to start work on the merger between our families a little early, helping little Sammy here with his grief over Daddy's death."

In all the negotiations that Sam had done for his father's organization before the kidnapping, he dealt with a lot of different criminals, Ruthless, egotistical, protective, street-smart and some not so smart, but none had gotten under his skin like this man with his attitude of superiority and disrespect. There was no negotiating with someone who thought they deserved the world and wasn't willing to give up anything in return. Someone like that needed to be excised like the malignant tumor they were.

Dean stepped up to Sam's side, looking warily between the two men and keeping his silence. He then raised his weapon at the bodyguard's head, gesturing for him to step away from Samuel. When he did, Dean kept his gun on him.

"Dean is the only reason I haven't killed you yet, old man. You should be more grateful." Sam couldn't keep the disdain out of his voice.

Samuel dismissed Dean with a quick look. "My only mistake was to trust him to finish the job and kill you last year. I should have known that he would be distracted by a pretty face, just like my daughter before him. He needs discipline and direction, and if you plan on him becoming your guard dog, you should know that. Oh yeah, and watch your back because he'll stab you in it."

Sam glanced at Dean's stoic face. His father - no, grandfather - was a dick and Dean was raised around him but Sam still worried about how the mention of his mother and his disloyalty would effect the other man.

The momentary distraction was enough for Samuel to draw his own weapon and point it at Sam's chest. "Guess I have to finish this myself, which is something I am glad to do."

The only noise in that moment was the cock of Dean's gun held at the bodyguard's head. "I wouldn't do that, Samuel, unless you want to lose your man here. Step away from Sam."

"I don't give a shit what you do to him." The bodyguard's eyes went wide at Samuel's words. For all of his boss's talk about family, it boiled down to simple revenge and ego. Everyone was expendable in this eyes.

"It's about time that I cut off the head off the Winchester family and watch the whole organization come crumbled down." Samuel's words were followed by two quick shots dead center on Sam's chest. Sam fell backwards from the force of the gunshots with his hair fluttering around his face, looking almost black in the silver moonlight. As his head hit the concrete floor, Sam flashed on a distant memory of falling down stairs.

"No! Sam!" Once again, Dean's voice was the last thing he heard before everything went black.

\---

The first thing he became aware of when regaining consciousness was darkness. Panic hit him at the thought that this time the blindness would stay forever. He would never see Dean's face again and the fear of going back to where he was a year ago threatened to drown him.

Pain was the second thing that hit him and his chest felt like it was on fire. His eyes fluttered opened slightly and he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw a bright blue sky through an open window. He expected a cacophony of noises to rise up around him after the boom of the gunshots, but instead the quiet of the room was disconcerting. 

Sam reached his hand up to rub at the fiery pain burning in his chest when a hand from outside his view moved in quickly to grab his wrist.

"Sam! Oh, thank God. You're back with us." Dean grabbed his face, turning it to look at him. "Are you ok?" 

Sam looked into his green eyes but couldn't gather the energy to respond and an exasperated look crossed Dean's face. Before Sam could speak, the older man began to push his hair away from his face. "What were you thinking? Pushing hard him like that. You should have told me that you were going to do that. He could have shot you in the head, Sam."

The younger man cracked a pained smile. "You should have a little faith in me, Dean."

He tried to sit up but the pain flared up in his chest and he fell back into the pillows. Looking down he realized that he was dressed in a blue hospital gown. An IV ran up a silver pole next to the bed.

"Hold on, you don't want to pull this out," Dean gently pushed Sam's shoulders back onto the bed. He pulled the blue gown down to look at a large black and green bruise already blooming on his chest.

"Tell me again why I can't kill him and throw him the end of that pier," Dean glared at the bruise and at the thought of his grandfather. The lightweight Kevlar body armor that was under Sam's shirt had saved his life but the bullets had still done significant damage.

"You know why. If he was anyone else, I would have been right beside you, tying the cement blocks to his cold, dead body. But he's your grandfather and the only family you have. Much as I want him dead, I couldn't do that to you, to us." Sam was panting from the exertion and went to rub his chest again but Dean caught his wrist.

"No matter how long they put him away for, he will be back," Dean said, more to himself than to Sam.

"But he's in jail now?" Sam couldn't remember anything that happened at the warehouse after the shots were fired.

"Crowley played his part perfectly, showing up with the cops right when Samuel shot you. Given you were unconscious with Samuel standing over us with his gun, it wasn't a difficult story to sell to the cops, that he had stormed onto your property with the intent to kill you. They took him into custody right away," Dean recounted. "What was surprising was how quickly Samuel's bodyguard turned against him, collaborating the story. That's what you get when you spit in the face of family loyalty. I doubt anyone from his organization will be sad to see him go, even my closest cousins, who will be too busy climbing over each other to take over his businesses. Between two eyewitnesses and several well placed and expensive bribes, Samuel will be going away for a long time."

Dean's face broke into a broad smile. 

"So, how does it feel to be a dead man, Sam Winchester?"


	5. Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have settled down after the events of last year. Sam and Dean have their normal, quiet life until one of them reaches out to someone from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this last chapter. Being sick kind of kicked me in the ass the last few weeks but glad to be back. Holidays may have made me a little schoompy at the end here.
> 
> Thanks so much for following the story and love to hear any comments!

Sam drug the bulky evergreen tree across the apartment threshold. Between the tang of the pine and the first flakes of snow outside, it was hard to believe that they lived in the heart of Texas. He maneuvered the tree across the floor and onto the stand next to their fireplace. Only a few hours remained to decorate the tree before Dean returned home from the garage.

A new life after everything that happened last year seemed unreal. Losing his father, putting Samuel away and then walking away permanently from their old lives, they were truly starting over. Few family connections or little wealth to fall back on, the two men only had each other.

Sam considered the imperfect green tree squatting in his living room with its plain branches and the mismatched box of glass ornaments he bought at a garage sale. Holidays at the Winchester mansion were a grand affair with a tree that was a two-story monstrosity pulled from the pages of Pottery Barn, decorated by staff who hung the matching silver ornaments and white lights while balancing on step ladders. Extravagant parties were held for John's men and all their connections, but they were a pale nod to family tradition and more of a business celebration. This year, Sam and Dean would start their own traditions, like drinking spiked egg nog before the fireplace or exchanging presents on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas morning.

As he pulled the first ornament from the box, Sam glanced at his brown canvas backpack sitting on the floor next to the couch. It was stuffed with his laptop and dozens of student papers from Professor Shurley's class. Sam remained grateful that Chuck had been willing to defer the TA assignment he offered Sam to the fall schedule upon his return to school last February. He would need an hour today to finish them before the deadline tomorrow morning. Between acting as TA and his two other higher level courses, Sam would finally graduate this semester and needed to decide his next step - applying to law school in the spring or taking Chuck's advice to pursue a Master's in Psychology.

A timid knock sounded at the front door and Sam hesitated for a moment. If it were Dean, he would use his key. If it were Ash, he would have called or texted from New York. Everyone else thought Sam was dead so that kept their list of friends short. Since moving back to Texas, they kept to themselves so knocks on the door were usually limited to Mormons or Girl Scouts. As Sam looked out the security keyhole, all he could see was shoulder-length blonde hair as the person faced the street. Whoever they were, they were a little tall for a Girl Scout.

He opened the door cautiously and when the woman turned around, the first thing he noticed was beautiful green eyes.

"You must be Sam," she said. "You wrote to me."

"You came? I can't believe you're here. Please, please come inside." He ushered her inside, closing the door against the freezing temperatures. 

Based on this surprise, the quiet of drinking egg nog and wrapping gifts could wait another day.

\---

Sam turned over the last student paper in his pile and was capping his red pen as he heard Dean's key in the front door lock.

"Honey, I'm home." The greeting still made Sam smile but as Dean walked in, it was the look of wonder on his face as he took in the colorful lights and decorations on their Christmas tree that made all the work and secrecy worth it.

"What have you been up to while I was gone? It smells like sugar cookies too. What army of elves helped you to set all this up?" Dean reached out to touch a softball-sized gold and green ornament which reflected back the lights of the tree.

"Funny you say that. We need to talk and you need to sit down for this." Sam's words came out in a rush. When Dean didn't make a move to sit down and continued to gaze at the tree, Sam continued. "I made a few calls last month and things are happening more quickly than I expected. I'm not sure how you are going to react. Please remember, I wanted to do something special for you."

Sam bit his lip and the hesitation in his voice made Dean turn around. "What do you mean? Who did you call? God, Ash isn't coming to stay with us for Christmas, is he? Of all the things we left behind in New York..."

"No, no, Ash isn't coming. Someone else is here." Sam looked down at his feet, kicking at the carpet. "I found her for you."

Dean's attention was suddenly focused to a sharp point. He reached out to reassure Sam, taking a hold of his shoulder. "Found who?"

A feminine voice from the kitchen floated out to the living room. "Sam, do you guys have any more sugar? I may have gone a little nuts on making the cookies."

Sam looked into Dean's eyes and grabbed onto the hand resting on his shoulder as if it would fly away, startled like a bird at the sound of that voice from the next room. "It's been a year since you and I lost our only family. Now we have a chance to build our own family. I wanted to find her so that you could know what happened all those years ago."

"Sam..." Dean was interrupted by their guest walking in the living room.

She was a pretty woman in her early forties, with wavy blond hair that fell past her shoulders. A dish towel was tied around her waist and covered in flour. Her green eyes widened in surprise when she saw Dean standing beside Sam. 

"Dean, this is Mary. This is your mother." 

Dean's surprised eyes mirrored his mother's. The initial surprise and softness was momentary before Dean's face tightened noticeably. He pushed Sam's hand away from him, walking past his partner towards the front door.

"I need to get out of here. Call me when your guest leaves." He put his leather jacket back on and had his fingers around the front door knob before Sam reached him and grabbed his arm.

"Wait, let's talk about this. If you would give this a chance..." 

"I didn't ask you to do this."

Dean shrugged out of his grip for a second time and took off outside. Sam watched as he hunched against the wind in his thin jacket, thinking how he and Dean argued that morning about his lack of cold weather clothes. Sam watched as Dean walked in the blowing white swirls to the end of the path, thinking randomly about white Christmases and Bing Crosby sons. Rather than get back into his car, Dean made a left turn on the sidewalk and kept walking with single-minded purpose down the block. 

Sam's shoulders fell in relief as he knew where to find him later.

Mary had returned to the kitchen but came back out with her purse and jacket. "I think it's time I leave. Thanks for inviting me, Sam."

"Please, he just needs a little time. Don't leave town yet, ok? Just give it a day." He turned his pleading eyes at her and she reached up to cup his jaw which made him feel like a begging child who needed to be reassured. Unwanted tears formed at the corner of his eyes.

"Sam, it was a lovely thought and you are a lovely man but I need to go now." Just as Dean did, she shouldered past Sam and left through the front door. He watched her head down the same path as her son but turn right at the sidewalk, walking in the opposite direction.

\---

The Olive Branch was their local dive bar, owned by an Iraq war vet named Benny, and it smelled of spilled beers and salt. It was never Sam's favorite place but it was Dean's home away from home. While Sam and Benny never hit it off, Dean had formed a friendship with the ex-Delta Force team member, listening to his combat stories about HALO jumps and covert ops, sharing his own stories about the street of New York. Dean rarely trusted anyone and yet he trusted the burly, bearded man behind this bar for some reason. Whether he had shared any details about their real identities, Sam wasn't sure.

Stepping in the front door, Sam shook off the snow that had gathered in his hair like the world's largest golden retriever and took a look around the bar. There were no angels or other sentimental holiday decorations, just a few simple evergreen boughs and twinkling white lights glowing against the bottles above the bar.

Dean was seated at the far side of the bar, hunched over a glass of whisky, while Benny dried off glasses midway down. The big guy gave Sam a nod when he walked in and pulled a bottle of Stella Artois, setting it on the bar near Dean.

He straddled the stool next to Dean in silence for several minutes, sipping his beer.

"You did a nice job on the tree. I didn't get a chance to say that." No matter how many drinks Dean had, he sounded sober.

"Thanks."

Dean took another sip of his whisky and looked over at Sam, waiting for more but he kept drinking and watching the television over the bar. "Sam, I don't think that woman and I have anything to say to each other. She left me and went on with her life. She left me with Samuel."

"She was 15 years old, Dean."

"I have my life now. I have you. I don't need anyone else. It's too late to start something like this."

Benny made an appearance, wiping his hands on a towel. "You boys need anything?" 

Benny's nicknames always rankled Sam but tonight it was the protective look on Benny's face as he looked at Dean irked him even worse. It was Sam's job to protect Dean, not some part-time bartender friend who had only known him for three months.

"No, we're great, Benny," Sam said as he threw a few bills down on the bar top. "We should get home and have something to eat. It's still early, right, Dean?"

"Yeah, you're right, Sam. Still early," he said softly into his glass.

\---

The sun poured in through their window as Sam sat in the chair next to their bed, slouched down in his old sweats with legs crossed and feet propped up on the mattress. As he sipped from his coffee cup, he watched Dean who lay across their bed. breathing slowly and rhythmically. Dean's hair which looked brown on any given day now shone reddish gold, matching his scruff, in that early morning light. Shirtless and unaware of being watched, he seemed much younger and more vulnerable than the hard-ass he once was.

Looking at the other man, Sam knew they would be alright. He hoped that maybe they could be even more, that they could be happy. Maybe he was wrong, reaching out to Dean's biological mother without telling him, disrupting the balance and inviting in an element that they had left behind thousands of miles away but he thought that it might make Dean happy, to know where he came from.

Outside, a neighbor started up a leaf blower to clear the two inches of snow in their driveway. Sam glanced out the window and smirked at the scene, wondering if they knew it would melt In the next hour. When he looked back, Dean was still laying on his stomach but his wide green eyes were open. 

Sam tilted his head to the side to look at him. "You know, drinking your issues away is not conducive to getting up for your job the next day."

"Yeah, well, I got an understanding boss," Dean said as he crooked his neck to look at the alarm clock on the night stand. "Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

"I wanted to let you sleep in. I also needed the time to figure out how to say I was sorry. I wanted yesterday to be memorable for you and instead it was a mess. I was wrong to force you to meet her."

Dean sat up, the white sheets falling to his waist. He ran a hand through his rumpled hair, making it stand straight up and even more adorable. Sam took another sip of his coffee, watching the other man over the rim of the cup. He was so beautiful and he would do anything for him. "What do you want to do today? Christmas shopping for your boyfriend?"

"How about a little food? I was thinking of breakfast with family."

\---

The coffee shop near Sam's campus reminded him of Ellen and Jo's place, from its big silver and black Lavazza espresso machine to the glass displays of scones and cinnamon rolls. Formica tables and chrome stools at the counter gave it more of a 1950s diner feel than New York City coffee shop, but it was still warm and friendly. He wondered how Ellen and Jo were doing and if they ever thought about him. Their friendship was one of the few downsides to pretending to be dead.

Sam and Dean sat on the same side of the table, their backs to the wall, facing the front door. When the two of them first met at Ellen's, Sam wasn't able to see Dean thanks to the cortical blindness but he could recall every other detail. The rasp in his voice. The lemon and coriander of his cologne. The smoothness of his actions.

Dean had been implacable then, a killer without nerves. Now, he was a wreck, rearranging his silverware and water glass on the table several times.

"What changed your mind about meeting Mary? And please don't say it was something that Benny said." Sam scrunched up his nose at the thought of the bartender.

Dean let out a soft snort. "What is your problem with Benny? The guy has been through a lot of violence in his life and came out the other side, trying to have a normal life. Nothing to be jealous of, Sam. I'm not into bears like Benny. I like my men lean and tall."

The younger man bumped Dean's shoulder and glanced over at him with a dimpled half smile.

Dean took a sip from his coffee mug and became thoughtful. "Talking to him did get me to think. Being raised like we were, by our families to become another well oiled piece in the machine. Well, I would guess that this woman is one of the few people who might know how that feels. She might know about breaking away and starting over."

The diner's chimes jingled and a gust of frigid wind blew in along with the blond woman from yesterday. Like her son, she was beautiful with small laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. When Sam stood up and waved her over, she smiled brightly but then schooled her features at the measured look on Dean's face.

"Thanks for coming, Mary." Sam wanted to hug her but with the table between them had to settle for an awkward handshake.

She took off her coat and the waitress took her order for coffee. Mary nodded at their half-filled mugs. "Glad to see you two drink coffee. I'm a caffeine addict. Don't trust anyone who doesn't drink it."

She turned to study Dean's face. In the morning sun streaming in the plate glass shop window, Sam could see that he was wrong about the color. They weren't the same, with Dean's more a shade of bottle green and Mary's more moss green. Still, there was something about the shape of them and her expression reminded him so much of his partner.

"I imagine you have a few questions. Where do you want to start?" Her eyebrows went up in encouragement.

Sam had to sit on his hands to remind himself not to speak, to let Dean drive this conversation at the speed he was comfortable with.

"Let's start simple. Where do you live now?" Dean asked.

"Right now, I live in Chicago. How about you? How do you like Texas after living in New York?" Her look flashed between the two of them.

Dean cracked a smile. "It's warmer at least. We're staying here until Sam finishes school and then we'll see. Whatever happens, we can never go back to New York."

She looked down into her cup. "I heard the story from Sam. How long will Samuel stay in prison?"

"Twenty to twenty five years."

"Good. I'm glad. Last time I saw him, he told me that I had to give up my baby. I hope he rots in prison."

Dean's head tilted slightly, frowning at the mention of a baby. "Well, at least we have one thing in common. Although I would never abandon my child."

She shifted uncomfortably. "Dean, you need to understand what was happening at that time, Samuel had my boyfriend beaten and he left town without a word, and I thought you were going to be adopted. A good family. A clean family. You would grow up normal. Without you, the only thing left for me in that world was Samuel so I ran. It wasn't until I was 30 when I ran into someone I knew on the street who told me the truth, that Samuel kept you and raised you as his own son. At that point, it was too late to do anything."

"Too late?" Dean's face hardened and he pulled away the hand that was resting on Sam's leg. "Let's see. I was 15 when you found this out. A freshman in high school, when I felt like going to school. Samuel didn't care whether I went or not as long as it didn't interfere with me running shotgun with his crew. Do you know that I shot my first man at 17? Not because I wanted to but because the man I thought was my father told me to. No, it wouldn't have been too late at 15 to know that someone cared, someone who might think enough about me to pull me out of that life. Now, after all these years, you show up, baking cookies at my house? And expect what? What do you expect from me?"

The smooth hitman Sam first met was gone and an angry and abandoned son was in his place. Mary nodded as if Dean had continued to speak and then raised the coffee mug to her lips to hide her shaking hands.

"Dean," Sam pleaded and reached for his hand across the table. "This is all my fault. I asked her to come. Please don't blame her for that."

"It's okay, Sam. He's right." Mary's voice was strong, regaining some of her confidence. "It was easier for me to think that it was too late than to face my father again. I always thought that I was being strong by staying away. I wasn't. I would give anything to go back and to be there for you when you were growing up, to protect you."

"Sometimes when you break away from your old life, there is a price to pay." Dean turned his gaze back to Sam, as he took the hand offered. "When Samuel shot Sam, we made the decision to break away and leave everything behind. I thought I made peace with my past and put it to bed at that time. But having you here, talking about these things, brings it all back. This reminds me of who I was before I met Sam."

He took a deep breath before he continued. "I didn't have a real family growing up. Now, Sam is my family and I will defend that to the end."

"I understand. You two have something special and I would never do anything to hurt that."

"You better hope not." Dean stood up, his calm demeanor sliding back in place like a mask. "Maybe we can try this again sometime but now isn't the time. Right now, I'm going to get Sam a refill of coffee and settle up the check."

At Dean's dismissal, Mary simply nodded to both boys and grabbed her coat. Sam watched her get into her rental car through the plate glass window as Dean walked over to the counter.

Sam leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes against the brightness of the morning sun. The sounds of the coffee shop surrounded him. Dean's low raspy voice ordering at the counter. The rhythmic clack of laptop keys from nearby students. The low-key conversations of friends catching up on their lives. Mothers cooing at their babies, smoothing them so they could enjoy a few minutes of peace. The world was moving on around them and they were moving on as well. 

He smelled lemons and coriander and felt a hand close on his shoulder. "Hey, I think it's time we head home."

Sam looked up into beautiful green eyes and smiled. “I'm already home.”


End file.
